


Remnant

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Ficlet, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 04:50:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13206339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis finds Prompto’s finished with his heat, not feelings.





	Remnant

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s physically exhausted, even though he hasn’t left his suite in days—but how could he, with Prompto in such a fit? The hazy images still flitter through his head, the scent still clinging to his clothes and the sounds still ringing in his ears. He even knows how Prompto _tastes_ , even though he told himself he’d stay away. He had no business trying. One omega can’t satiate another, and they’re best friends, and he’s the _prince_ , as his father so unhelpfully reminded him. Even Ignis said it would be a bad idea. But Prompto has always been too cute for words, and when he spiraled into heat in the middle of Noctis’ bed, spread out with a comic book, it was all Noctis could do to stay sane.

He scrunches his eyes closed and tries to shove the memories away. They won’t do anyone any good. It’s over now, anyway—Prompto’s safely tucked in one of the guest bedrooms, able to breathe and _think_ again, and Noctis is in his own sprawling bed, free of the cloying smell of _heat_. Or mostly free. He should’ve let the maids change his sheets. Sometimes he regrets being so stubborn.

Other times, he’s glad of it. Because as difficult as it was to hold Prompto in his arms while _someone else_ pounded into him, it would’ve been worse to send him away. At least in the palace, Noctis can see he’s taken care of. At least Noctis can still see him. Noctis buries his face in the pillow and lets out an aggravated growl—the future king, and he _still_ can’t have what he wants.

He can’t sleep either. But he tries. Tomorrow will be a new day, and they’ll awkwardly greet one another in the hall and pretend it never happened. Ignis will drive Prompto home. Noctis will take his anger out on Gladio in the training room, and he’ll down a handful of suppressants afterwards so he’ll never have to face what Prompto does.

His door cricks open, and Noctis tenses instantly, even though he knows the guards wouldn’t allow an intruder in. Ignis and Gladio would knock. But Ignis wouldn’t come at this time of night, and Gladio’s hyper-alpha self has probably been shuffled off while the prince’s omega friend is trying to sleep.

Sure enough, a blond head pokes into the room. Even with the curtains drawn, Noctis’ bedroom windows are wide and tall enough to always let in _some_ starlight. Even if they didn’t, Noctis would know his best friend anywhere. Prompto shuts the door again and shuffles over, slender hips swaying even more than usual. Noctis’ eyes are glued to the movement.

Then Prompto’s climbing tentatively onto the corner of his mattress, and Prompto whispers, like it isn’t just the two of them alone in Noctis’ chambers, “Hey. Sorry, but, uh... could I...” He pauses for a second, gaze falling away. He’s wearing Noctis’ borrowed pajamas, only a little too big on him, just sideways. He looks extra _lovely_ in the glossy silk, innocently white. Prompto fidgets before continuing, “Could I crash here?”

Somehow, Noctis already knew he was going to do that. Noctis reaches up to brush some of the golden bangs away from Prompto’s eyes so he can study them—they’re not as dilated as they’ve been, not quite as unfocused. He seems lucid. And yet...

“I thought your heat was over.”

Prompto just shrugs.

It kills Noctis to suggest, “Should I call for an alpha? Ignis is never far, and Gladio—”

He cuts off, because Prompto’s fervently shaking his head. He only stops to mumble, “I... just want you.” His eyes say that he means it. Noctis doesn’t know what to do.

He knows what his father and advisors would tell him. But he’s never been good at listening to them, and he lifts his blanket up anyway. A wide grin splits across Prompto’s handsome features, lighting him up with the sort of pure glee that Noctis never expresses. Maybe they’re a good balance. Prompto instantly drops to wriggle beneath the offered blanket, rather than walking to the other side of the bed. It’s more than big enough for both of them. But Prompto sidles right up against Noctis, close enough to touch, enough that their knees knock together when Noctis shifts. Prompto keeps squirming until they’re flush together, even sharing the same pillow. Even through the darkness, Noctis can see every one of Prompto’s subtle freckles.

Prompto adds, low in a conspirator’s whisper, “Thanks for letting me stay here, Noct. At the palace, I mean.”

“Of course,” Noctis grunts. “That’s where all the best alphas are.”

Prompto chirps, “And omegas,” and grins. It couldn’t be clearer who he’s talking about. It makes Noctis’ cheeks burn, and he deliberately looks away. He should probably roll over, but he doesn’t. He likes the smell of Prompto too much, even simmered down from heat, still damp from sweat and slick, in sore need of several showers. It doesn’t help that Prompto has the most beautiful face he’s ever seen. Or maybe Noctis is just getting sentimental off raw pheromones and needs to get over it.

To try and save his image, he mutters, “Just don’t rub against me all night; I don’t want it to trigger a heat.”

“Sure, bud,” Prompto promises, and then he’s clinging to Noctis anyway, embracing him beneath the blankets. Prompto doesn’t hump Noctis, exactly, but some of his squirming feels a lot like grinding, and his body’s so _warm_. It’s intoxicating. Prompto’s intoxicating. Noctis finds his arms wrapping around Prompto in return, and Prompto mewls happily before nuzzling into Noctis’ face, clearly still lost to lesser instincts.

Noctis feels them too. When Prompto lines their faces up, just looking into Noctis’ eyes, Noctis closes them and presses forward. He meets Prompto in a kiss meant to be chaste, except it’s quickly open, his tongue slipping into Prompto’s mouth, exploring every crevice the way all the alphas have. It makes Noctis hiss against Prompto’s lips and kiss him deeper, harder, wanting to just roll them right over and grind Prompto into the mattress—a surge of fierce possessiveness takes over him, because Prompto was his _first_ and should be only his.

But that isn’t fair, and he knows it. He stops just short of biting Prompto’s lips, begrudgingly pulling back, because Prompto’s already panting. Instead, he keeps their foreheads pressed together. Prompto, still recovering from a whirlwind of _sex_ and longing, eventually murmurs, “You know that you’re my favourite, right?”

Noctis grunts. 

Prompto rubs their noses together and insists, “I mean it, dude. I’m yours first. I’m always loyal to you. You have to know that by now.”

“Yeah. ...I guess do.” In a way, he probably always did. It’s still good to hear it. Prompto grins sleepily and keeps trying to snuggle closer, even though they couldn’t get any closer if they were welded at the hip. But he never expects his Prompto to be still.

When Prompto finally does settle down, that’s how Noctis knows he’s asleep. 

And Noctis damns the consequences, curls tightly around him, and follows.


End file.
